Lord Harold James Potter
by Black Thought
Summary: What would have happened if Dumbledore had proclaimed Harry's brother the BoyWhoLived? Read to find out how the lives of the Potters were changed after Voldemort attacked. Abandoned and up for adoption. Read my profile for more.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, J.K. Rowling does and some other people I think.

* * *

It was a silent and dark night, as a dark figure moved gracefully towards the large house, hidden by an ancient enchantment, called the Fidelius Charm.

The man strode silently up the large driveway to the old gothic house. The man's red eyes gleamed with evil and ill will, as he took out a slender wand from the folds of his robes.

BANG! The main doors were blasted away from existence as the man sent a blasting curse towards them.

"Lily, take the boys and get out of here!" yelled a man's voice from the house. He was clearly trying to make someone go to safety, from the man outside.

"No, James! I won't leave you alone to fight him!" said a woman's voice, replying to the man, now identified as James.

"Just GO!" shouted James.

The man outside the house entered, smirking.

"Voldemort!" said James, flicking his wand and watching as some of the debris from the fallen wooden door rose up in the air and sped towards the intruding man, now known as Voldemort.

"Hello, James." said Voldemort, unaware of the danger behind him. Only James smirking face alerted him of the fact.

POP!

Voldemort had torn through the anti-teleporting enchantments and had teleported behind James. He quickly flicked his wrist and spells came shooting out of his wand.

James rolled away from the volley of spells, returning his own as he dodged. He created a golden shield as he rolled to his feet. It seemed he was just in time to block a series of lethal spells.

"I won't let you get to my wife and children, Voldemort!" yelled James as was pressed on to the defensive.

"Then you shall die, my dear James Potter." said Voldemort, moving his wand in a series of complicated wand-movements. "But that shall wait. I will give you the honor of seeing me destroy your children!" he released the build up magic in his wand.

James eyes widened at seeing the raw magic heading towards him, fast. He knew there was no escaping this, but he had to try, for Lily, his wife and his two twin sons Harold Potter and Charles Potter.

But he could do nothing but watch as the black raw magic sped towards him. A second later, he was unconscious.

Voldemort shook his head at the waste of potential. He would deal with James Potter after the wife and the two children were dead. He pondered the decision to come here, to kill the future obstacles in his path to ultimate power.

A servant of his had come and told him about a prophecy told by one Sybil Trawleny, a known disgraced descendant of Cassandra Trawleny the Seer. Sybil had no talent in Divination, but she had one true prediction under her belt; she had prophesied about Voldemort's rise to power.

Who's to say she couldn't prophesies another person's rise to power. Abruptly brushing aside his thoughts, Voldemort concentrated more on finding the woman and the children.

Hearing a baby's cry coming from the room on the right, he entered. He was surprised to see a frightened Lily Potter standing in his path to the Potter twins, wand raised.

"You really think you can beat me, girl?" asked Voldemort mockingly, as he raised his wand. "Your husband could hardly scratch me!"

"AVADA KADAVRA!" yelled Lily desperately.

Voldemort easily dodged the killing curse. He sneered at Lily. "You shall get the same honor as your husband: see me as I destroy the Potter heirs."

"NO!" yelled Lily. She threw herself to Voldemort's feet. "No, please, no. Don't kill them, please. Kill me, but not them. Please not my one year old boys, please…"

"Step aside foolish girl, step ASIDE!" At the end Voldemort was yelling.

"NO!" Lily's defiance ended with her unconscious.

"Pity." Voldemort whispered, obviously not feeling pity at all.

Abruptly, he turned and stared at the two baby boys in the crib, in the middle of the room.

With his back to the door he cautiously approached them; they were supposed to be his downfall after all. Every cold-blooded Slytherin would be cautious; their lives depended on it.

Not sure who was the one in the prophecy, he prepared to kill both boys tonight.

But first, his greatest weakness: gloating.

"You would have been my downfall, Potter children." Voldemort whispered. "But, the meddling old man Dumbledore didn't protect Sybil from the Death Eaters enough. As their leader, I can find anyone, even you."

Finished gloating, Voldemort surveyed the children. The boy on the left was black haired. He had bright green eyes, with a black tint around the irises. He was average sized, but Voldemort knew tallness was in his blood. The boy was a bit thin, but a bit strong looking. He was a handsome baby, with thin, long fingers. Voldemort knew the legend that powerful people had long fingers. Dismissing it from his mind, Voldemort turned his attention to the other baby in the crib.

The other boy was, unlike his brother, auburn-haired. He had hazel eyes, like his father. He was a bit chubby and fat. Unlike his brother he would not be considered handsome, but was cute, because of his chubby little face and bright hazel eyes.

Finally deciding whom he was going to kill, Voldemort raised his wand slowly.

With deliberate slowness, he pointed his wand at one of the babies.

"Avada Kadavra!" Voldemort had only whispered the spell, but the hate behind it was strong, as was the fear. The bright green light sped towards the baby, ready to kill.

The boy was lucky though, with strange magic the unstoppable curse stopped inches away from his face, the like an insect ready to jump, it leapt upon the boy's forehead and leapt back to it's caster.

Voldemort only had time to be surprised, then the curse him full on in the arm, left forearm to be exact. There was carved a lightning shaped scar. However, Voldemort cared none for that, for burning pain was racing through his soul. The killing curse was designed to kill the body and destroy the soul.

Voldemort screamed like he was being attacked by demons. The killing curse wove through his body, and then destroyed it.

The body turned to ash, and then the ash was devoured by the desperate soul that had been expelled from the body by the killing curse. The killing curse had however lost a lot of its magic when it had hit the baby Potter. So Voldemort was only expelled from his body, not destroyed with it.

The dark Lord's spirit tried to hold on to one of the boys, to have a body to feed upon but the Potter magic would not allow a spirit to possess one of it's heirs.

Screaming the spirit of Voldemort turned and fled, hoping to find a body to hide in it.

The force of the magic performed had caused the roof to cave in, so the falling debris had caused a gash across Charles Potter's stomach. However the other baby, the one who was hit by the killing curse had gotten a lightning shaped cut, similar to Voldemort, on the left part of his forehead. The cut, unfortunately, also ran over his left eye. Blood rushed through the new opening in the child's body.

However Harold Potter didn't cry, he was numb from the pain of the cut; the killing curse, to prevent pain, numbed all senses when it hit the body.

Charles began crying. The front door to the house banged open and somebody cried out, "JAMES!" downstairs.

A spell was performed and a few moments later, the boys' father yelled, "Lily! Harold! Charles!"

Hurried footsteps ran up the stairs and a second the door banged open. James gasped at his wife's prone form. The other man, James best friend and companion, Sirius waved his wand and incanted a spell. Lily gasped and looked around. Seeing the boys, she rushed up to then and took Harold up, James taking Charles.

She immediately saw the cut. Gasping again, she waved her wand and the cut sealed over, but a lightning shaped scar remained. Waving her wand again she vanished the blood and cleaned Harold's face.

James had done the same to Charles' cut. There was no scar.

Hearing Sirius gasp, they turned around and saw the burnt remains of Voldemort's robes. Gasping, James whispered, "Is that…?"

"I think so, yeah." Sirius whispered back.

"How…?" Lily asked.

"Probably the boys!" James said astonished. He stared at the Potter boys.

"But who?" asked Sirius.

"I don't know!" said James. "It was probably Charles! See, his scar on his stomach healed, that means he has more powers, which means he defeated Voldemort!"

"Are you sure?" asked Lily.

"There's no other explanation!" said Sirius.

Putting down Harold in the crib, Lily cried out and took Charles from James arms. Kissing Charles over and over on his face, she said, "Our baby is the Child of the Prophecy!"

They forgot that they had another baby too: Harold, who was sitting silently in his crib, waiting for his mother to pick him up, which she would do after Dumbledore had arrived: to give Harold to him to inspect.

* * *

**Chapter One:**

It was a quiet morning. The grass was wet from the dew, the birds chirping happily.

However, one person didn't enjoy the nice spring weather. He was Harold James Potter, son of James and Lily Potter and brother of Charles Potter the Boy-Who-Lived.

Harold was sitting in his study, on the east side of the Potter Castle, reading and not playing outside like Charles who was flying on his new broom, with their father.

Flipping a page absently, Harold thought about why that thought did not bother him.

Charles Potter was famous throughout the wizarding Britain for his defeat of dark Lord Voldemort on Halloween 1981.

That had been ten years ago. After that day, James and Lily had devoted all their attention to Charles and ignored Harold.

Though they were not so cruel as to leave him unattended. They assigned two houselves, Springy and Ding, to him. They had also given to him all the East Tower, the tallest and second largest tower, the largest being the West Tower, which was assigned to Charles.

It was at noon that Harold was in his study reading, as usual. The curtains were closed and no light penetrated them into the room. There were silver torches hanging from the wall, in the shape of a serpent.

The thick book was unusual for an eleven-year-old child to read but Harold was far from ordinary. He was tall; almost 5'2", and he liked staying indoors rather than play outside. He sometimes said, "Playing is for people who have nothing to do with their lives." They all ignored him.

He didn't wear glasses, unlike his brother and father. His features were light and pale from staying indoors and in the darkness of the big libraries of the Potter Castle.

His long fingers nimbly turned another page and his sharp green eyes danced across the page, reading the secrets buried in the old book.

He had found the book, **_The Magicks and Secrets of Merlin the Sorcerer_**, when had been told by the houselves that they had found an old room in the tower.

He had gone with them to the base of the tower, and there hidden expertly and by magic was the thick gold door to an ancient room. He had explored it; he found out that it lead to even more under the castle.

After descending three hundred steps he reached the bottom and found a golden room, empty except for the bookshelves on the wall, full and stuffed with thick books, and thick fluffy golden carpet and two red armchairs.

He had afterwards found out that it was the room hidden by Gordic Gryffindor, co-founder of Hogwarts, a respected British wizarding school. Gordic had once lived I the castle, there he had hidden the room, which contained all his knowledge, and the one he filched from Rowena Ravenclaw, co-founder of Hogwarts, considered the smartest witch in the history of magical Britain.

The particular book that Harold was reading was written by Merlin and given as a gift to Salazar Slytherin and Rowena Ravenclaw, as a token of their completion of their apprenticeship to him. Gordic had stolen it fro Rowena's private library in Hogwarts.

Harold had found another book, written by the same Salazar Slytherin who had been Merlin's apprentice, named: **_The Writings and Speaking of the Serpents._**

The book had taught Harold about snake-speakers: Parselmouths. Parselmouths had a special and secret kind of magic called Parsel magic. He had found out he was one of those privileged ones who could wield that magic and speak the serpents tongue. Salazar Slytherin had been the last famous parselmouth; the most recent parselmouth had been dark Lord Voldemort, heir and descendant of Hogwarts co-founder and the most famous parselmouth and dark wizard in history of magical Britain: Lord Salazar Slytherin, lord of the Slytherin family.

Right now, Harold was reading the most famous book in history: the Magicks and Secrets of Merlin the Sorcerer. Merlin had been some kind of a god to wizards: his powers had been beyond the limits of mind and imagination.

Some had said that the gods themselves had sent a wizard to rule over them and teach them. But the truth was that Merlin had only gotten as he was because of rituals and practice to stretch his already large magical core.

Merlin also had one other equal. A sorceress by the name Morgana LeFay.

However, Morgana had used her powers for destruction and chaos, unlike Merlin.

Although it wasn't a widely known fact, as the Potters had tried to hide it for centuries, it was true that Morgana was married to the second son of the first Lord Potter. The second son had plotted with Morgana to kill his older brother and gain the Lordship of House Potter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Harold Potter!" The shout came at four in the morning, waking up the sleeping occupants of the Potter Castle.

"What is with that woman!" said Harold as he was forcibly woken up two hour before his usual waking time.

Stretching like a cat, he got up from bed and proceeded to the bathroom. An hour later, he had brushed his teeth, showered and completed his bathroom rituals.

Dressing him self in a black shirt and black pants, he took out a dragon-hide robe from his walk-in closet and put it on. Casting a charm to make his hair go flat, he combed it properly for a wizard of his standard: the heir to the Potter House.

Putting on a heavy cloak when exiting the East Tower, he walked down the stairs quietly.

"Harold Potter!" the shout came again, as it probably had the whole hour or so he was in the bathroom.

Walking into the dining room, he took his place on his father's right hand. As he was the older one, by twenty minutes, he was the one inheriting the Potter fortune and not Charles.

"Harold Potter!" This time the sentence was not shouted aloud but said in an angry voice. "I have called you down here a million times, but you did not listen!"

"Mother, I was getting ready!" he replied, gently piling pancakes on to his plate. "You should know! You take two hours just to shower!"

"Young man! You will not talk to your mother like that!" said James, who had been watching the whole exchange. "Do you understand me?"

Without taking a bite, he left the room with no remark; that pissed his parents off. He would have been disgusted if he found out that Charles, who was sitting beside him, had taken his pancakes and was stuffing his face like a pig, afraid Harold was going to come back and eat them.

* * *

One hour later, Harold was in his tower, trying one of the easier spells that were written in **_The Magicks and Secrets of Merlin the Sorcerer_**. 

Taking out his thirteen-inch wand, he waved it articulately and slowly incanted the incantation.

Deliberately, a soft red light started to build up at the end of his wand, his arm tingling from the feeling of his magic traveling down the length of his arm.

Taking a deep breath, he released the magical build up in his wand. The thin red beam of magic came shooting out of his wand and exploded into the wooden test dummy in front of him.

There was silence for a microsecond and all of the dummy's stuffing and inner- contents were pasted on the wall.

Shocked, Harold just gaped stupidly at the spot where the dummy had used to be, before it's transfer to the practice room wall.

Finally getting himself under control, through the use of his mediocre Occlumency skills that all purebloods had, he stared at the book, trying to decide whether he should continue reading or not. After the entire book seemed very dangerous.

Touching the thick leather binding, he sighed and remembered his vow that he had made when he was seven:

_I, Harold James Potter, the blood and magic heir to the Most Ancient and Powerful House of Potter, spoken heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, son of Lord James Henry Potter and Lady Lillian Elizabeth Potter, maiden Evans, swear to uphold the name of Potter and Black for as long as I have conscious and awareness. By Merlin, I swear to practice the Elvin and healing magic of the Potters and the black and destructive magic of the Blacks. I also swear to never let anything, be it moral, emotion, or life, get in the way of the joined Potter and Black glory. I will uphold the magic and traditions of the Potter and Black House. So spoken it is, so mote it be._

That vow was the one that all purebloods swore at their seventh birthday, and it was then that he had been named the Potter and Black heir. Charles had been green with envy. He had however personalized the vow a little. Every Potter did. His father and mother had not approved of the little part about ignoring moral and emotion and life for glory. He had overheard his father saying it was a pure Slytherin-type vow. He had smirked and went away.

Luckily James, or the rest of the wizarding world, could do nothing about the old pureblood laws, and the influential purebloods did not want to change their age-old laws for a spoiled celebrity.

Harold knew that to survive in the world, he would have to be strong and powerful.

With a disgusted snort, he remembered the Potter family motto: **Rewards for the Brave**. What a stupid motto! He thought, sighing.

He had decided adopt the Black family motto: **Survival of the Cunning**.

Suddenly, he felt his window shake. With a confused whirl he pointed his wand at the window.

A barn owl came fluttering up, dazed and confused.

"Hogwarts letter!" Harold said, having completely forgotten about it.

A great shout came from the other side of the castle; it was surprising how well Lily had managed to pass on her gift of loud voice to Charles as well.

"MOM! DAD! I got the letter!" came other loud shout from Charles.

Rolling his eyes, Harold walked down to the living room, whishing to inform his parents about his acceptance into Hogwarts.

As he was about to leave, he spotted another owl flying towards his tower.

What was this? He wondered. It seems I have gotten another letter, but I didn't apply anywhere else.

The brown owl came fluttering into the room, and perched on Harold's shoulder.

Taking the letter, he turned it and gasped when he saw the name: **_The First Magus School of Magic and Sorcery_**.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

* * *

Gasping, Harold sat down on an armchair. **_The First Magus School of Magic and Sorcery_**!

That school was a legend, thought to be created by Elves of the ancient world. Elves, who were banished from their world for practicing magic of the dark kind.

Many a battle had been fought over the issue, blood spilled until the fabric of reality was about to be split and demons enter the world. It was at this point when the High Elves defeated the banished elves.

After the Banishment as it was called, the rejected elves called themselves the Blood Elves, in remembrance of the blood spilt on the battlefield against the High Elves.

They did every thing the High Elves did not. They were allies with the Dwarves, though the Blood Elves still hated them.

The Blood Elves did not stop to practice the dark magic, but took it up as a tradition and honored it. They even went as far as befriending the ancient vampires, and inviting their children to the Magus school.

For a mortal to get an invitation to the immortal school of magic was astounding. The Magus school was a place that mortals couldn't even dream to visit, let alone be taught in it.

When the day of the letters came, Harold thought he would get an invitation from Hogwarts or perhaps Drumstrang. But in his hand was an invitation from the most elite and respected schools of the wizarding world.

Looking over the envelope, he saw the famous Magus coat of arms: a thick black background and a beautiful blood-red moon rising. A black dragon on the ground was belching flames towards the dark sky.

Opening the letter carefully, he savored the feeling of the thick parchment between his fingers.

Unfolding the parchment, he read the letter written in red ink, the color of blood:

**Lord Manus Lamina II,** **Master of Lamina Family,**

**Blood Mage, **

**Blade Master, **

**Dark Arts Master,**

**Headmaster of the First Magus School of Magic and Sorcery.**

_**Potter-Black Heir Harold James Potter,**_

The First Magus School of Magic and Sorcery would like to extend an invitation for you to attend our school. If you accept, put a drop of blood on the Blood Elves coat of arms. An attached parchment lists the supplies needed to attend our school. Further instruction shall be given when you accept.

**Deputy Headmaster Lord Argentum Sericum IV, **

**Master of the Sericum Family, **

**Dagger Master, **

**Blood Sorcerer**.

Gasping, Harold cut his finger and squeezed a drop of blood on Blood Elves coat of arms.

As soon as the little drop of blood hit the emblem, the letter was engulfed in a bright red light.

A few seconds later, the letter was changed and the red light gone. Written on the same thick parchment was:

**_Potter-Black Heir Harold James Potter,_**

Thank you for accepting our invitation. To answer any questions that you may have, we have provided a parchment that is magically programmed to answer your questions.

**Deputy Headmaster Lord Argentum Sericum IV,**

**Dagger Master, **

**Blood Sorcerer.**

Looking through the envelope, he saw the programmed parchment. Taking it out, he conjured a quill.

Dipping it in black ink, he started writing:

_Why did I get an invitation?_

Immediately, red writing stared appearing on the parchment.

_Despite your known status as a mortal, the Magus school has decided to accept you. The reason for this is because of your noble status as the heir to Potter and Black family, and because of your more than exceptional magical talent_.

Sighing, Harold dipped his quill again and wrote:

_The tradition of the Blood Elves is to only invite the their own race and that of the vampires and even then, only the most elite. Why would the ancient Blood Elves break their tradition, for which they are known to always uphold?_

The writing appeared surprisingly fast.

_The answer to that question only Elvin Blood King Vetus Caedes II knows. _

Sighing, Harold grudgingly accepted the fact that he would never get to know the reason the Blood Elves' tradition was broken. To get an audience with the Elvin Blood King was very difficult, almost impossible for a mortal, even the mortal ambassador.

_What kind of items am I allowed to bring?_

_You can bring any items as long as you can hide it._

Smirking, as he realized he could bring anything just if he could hide during the travel from the Castle to the school.

_What kind of subjects do you teach?_

_There is a whole list of subjects students are allowed to take. You choose the subjects upon arriving._

_What kind of competition is there?_

_The competition is very hard. Average, fifty percent of the students do not survive their first three years. Those who do, however, mostly excel and know how to live._

_What kind of reaction would a mortal get when going to your school?_

_You would probably be the target of many attacks and ambushes. However, at the Magus school we have a rule that allows people be protected during their first year, during which we expect them to learn to survive or die. You will get your own rooms, which have basic wards on them, however if you want to put further wards you will have to do so without any help from the staff. _

_How many years of study are there in the school?_

_Depends on the student. We do not place people according to their age, but instead we place them according to their skills._

_How do I get to the school?_

_As you accept, an owl will be dispatched to your residence with a portkey to a mile from the school. Getting to the school will be your duty. Ten percent of the people we accept get killed during the Entry trails._

Looking towards his window, Harold was in time to see an owl smack into the window. Opening the window with a wave of his wand, he took a package from the owl.

Opening it he saw a small silver pendant. It had the Magus coat of arms. Reading a small note, he read:

_**Potter-Black Heir Harold James Potter,**_

Keep this pendant. This identifies you as a Magus student. It will give off a signal to warn the school's alumni and current staff and students.

**The First Magus School of Magic and Sorcery.**

Putting the pendant around his neck, he got up again, he realized how difficult it would be for his parents to agree to send him to a better school than the one they had studied in and Charles would study in.

Walking to the living room, he nodded at the lined portraits in the hallways. Entering the huge living room, he immediately realized that there was huge amount of kissing and hugging going on between his parents and brother.

"Mother! Father!" Harold called upon entering.

Turning round, James and Lily Potter regarded their oldest child. "Yes?" Lily asked.

"I got an invitation." He replied.

"Really?" asked James. He walked towards Harold and snatched the two invitations out of his hands. "What's this? You got two invitations, Harold?"

"Yes." He said smugly, enjoyed the look of envy on Charles' chubby face. "From Hogwarts _and_ the Magus school."

"The First Magus School of Magic and Sorcery? The Blood Elves' school? The school where only the best of Blood Elves and Vampires are invited? How did you get an invitation?" asked Charles incredulously.

"Yes, Charles, I got an invitation. You only got one from Hogwarts. Now we know who the better wizard is, although I have always known." Harold replied, wearing a smirk on his face.

"Are you sure it's yours?" asked Lily. "I mean, did they get the name mixed up. I must say, I think Charles deserves it more than you do, Harold! He defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, after all!"

Snarling, Harold replied, "It is mine, Mother! Charles did not get one, that means he is not as powerful as you all thought he was!"

"Well, you are not going to that Immortal School, and that's it!" said James, coming out of his shock that Harold would get an invitation to the Magus School.

* * *

**AN:** Some people were asking, how come Harold is the heir to the Black House? Well, the reason is because Sirius Black, the current Black lord, is not in prison and does not have a wife or any children. Sirius Black is also Harold's godfather and is bound by my made-up pureblood laws to bequeath his lordship title to his children or wards. 

Well, there's your answer, people.

Please, **Read** and **Review**.

**Venator Black,**

**The First Black Lord**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:**

Harold snarled at his father.

"What do you mean I can't go?" asked Harold, trying to keep his voice calm. "Father, I will go whether you want me to or not! I have already accepted! Look at the blood on this letter! And the Blood Elves always make sure that whoever they invite, gets to the school!"

Of course that was a lie; the Magus headmaster just had to make sure the invitee got to the portkey point, the rest was the student's problem. The school was supposed to be in the Artic!

James stared at the dried blood on parchment. Suddenly he snarled, "It doesn't matter, Harold! I will not let you go to that school! Charles is going to Hogwarts and so are you!"

"James!" said Lily. "He has already accepted! If he doesn't go to that school the Blood Elves will knock our door down to take him there! It would be better to just let him go!"

James whirled around to face Lily. His face was contorted as if he was doing something painful. Snarling again, he whirled around to face Harold. "Fine! Go to that bloody school! But when you come back dead and in a hundred pieces, don't come crying to me!"

Thrusting the letter at Harold, James walked out of the room.

Smirking, Harold bowed mockingly to his mother. "Thank you, Mother. But that was unnecessary." Then he walked out of the room.

* * *

It was August the 30th. Harold was packing his trunk. It was a special one. Designed by his great-great-grandfather, it had seven locks for seven different compartments.

The first two compartments were normal, except being slightly bigger because of the enlargement charms. The third one was five feet by five feet. Inside, he had stored different potions and ingredients. The fourth compartment was deeper than the rest. It was seven feet deep, for clothes. It was packed to the brim with robes, cloaks, pants, shirts, boots, and other clothes. The fifth compartment was overflowing with books; spell books, journals, life histories, all the books from room Godric Gryffindor and some from the three huge Potter libraries. The sixth compartment was full of magical artifacts: Foe Glass, Sneakoscopes, different magic detectors, and three gold cauldrons. In the corner of the compartment, there were five small silver cauldrons with some kind of green liquid bubbling in it. The last compartment was empty, ready to be filled with stuff from the school.

"Harold!" said a voice from the door of his room at top of the East Tower. Turning around, he saw Charles leaning at the doorframe, looking around at the almost empty room with a raised eyebrow. "What are you doing, going to live there permanently?" Apparently, he found what he said extremely hilarious and started laughing.

"Get out of my room, you bloody hyena!" said Harold. Drawing his wand from his wrist holder. Charles straightened up immediately.

"Don't call me a hyena, you… you…" said Charles trying to find a word that insulted him properly enough.

"You what?" said Harold mockingly. "Now get out!" he raised his wand and flicked it towards Charles.

Harold saw a look of surprise from him before Charles was thrown out of the tower, landing outside where a portrait sneered down at him. " You want to be the Potter heir? HA! You want to sit in the Upper House of Lords at the Wizengamot? HA! Boy, if your father had been able to make you his heir the House Potter would have been doomed!" the portrait of Williams Potter, Harold's great-great-great-great-great-grandfather, smirked down at Charles, who was lying in an extremely undignified manner at the feet of a suit of armor.

Snarling, Charles got up and walked away to his tower. Harold on the other hand, however, was sitting at his desk, reading: **_The Life Journeys of Rowena_** **_Ravenclaw_**, a book Gordic had stolen from Rowena to put in his private library in Potter Castle.

It was interesting how Rowena had shied away from her most important magical gift: sensing what others were feeling and thinking. Only an accomplished Occlumence could successfully block her out of his mind. And in her time, there were only a handful of Occlumence. But despite that she refused to acknowledge her family gift. She had only begun to accept it when Merlin had talked her into it, in her last year of life. It was tragic, the most knowledgeable witch of the last millennia, a witch who had single handedly managed to create half the wards guarding Gringotts and Hogwarts, making them the safest buildings in all of modern England. Rowena was a witch who had taught Salazar Slytherin to use parseltongue to create a whole new branch of magic, completely dedicated to parselmouths. Rowena had furthered the boundaries of magic in the last two millennia's more than anyone except for Merlin, Salazar Slytherin and Gordic Gryffindor. Rowena had also once visited the Elf realm, a privilege granted to no other mortal human other than Merlin. It was amazing how she had refused to even glance into the minds of other humans with or without their permission. She had once indirectly killed fifty Muggles because she refused to enter and search the mind of a dark wizard intent on killing of every non-magical human.

Closing the book, Harold reflected on how his life had turned out since the day Voldemort had attacked. He still remembered the love and care his parents had shown him before that day. Then killing curse had changed everything. The press and fans hounded Charles whenever they went out. Charles had gotten the special treatment, the love and care that were his by right. Charles was the Chosen One because Dumbledore said.

Oh, how he hated the man. If not for him, Harold would be the special one, the one his parents doted on and spoiled. He still remembered the day Dumbledore had proclaimed Charles the Boy-Who-Lived. He still remembered the day when he was four, he had overheard his parents talking about a prophecy that said Charles would defeat Voldemort one day and he had a power that Voldemort didn't know about. The next day Dumbledore had told his parents the power was love and if they kept showing Charles love, he would be able to defeat Voldemort.

Since that day, his parents had doted on Charles like he was going to die tomorrow. And ignored Harold like he was adopted or the son of their enemy.

But Harold was glad in a way. If Dumbledore had proclaimed him the Chosen One, he would be weak and spoiled like Charles was right now. But he still hated the man. He had promised himself on his fifth birthday, after hearing Dumbledore and his parents, that he was going to kill Dumbledore one day.

Some times in his sleep, he dreamed of the night Voldemort chose Charles. He remembered high-pitched laughter and the green light of the Killing Curse. He remembered sharp pain in his forehead, where his lightening bolt scar was. Then he heard a scream of pain, not from him but someone else, Voldemort most likely.

He had always wondered why he had nightmares of that night. According to Dumbledore's theory, Charles should be the one getting nightmares. But he had asked him and Charles had no nightmares. Since then he had begun to suspect Dumbledore's theory. Why would an innocent bystander get nightmares of a thing that happened to the victor?

Looking up, he saw the time; 12:00 PM. Deciding to go to bed, he changed into pajamas and slipped into his king sized bed. Finding a comfortable position instantly, he slipped into the land of sleep. He dreamt of huge castles and letters and the Potter and Black Family rings and the Family libraries.

He was dreaming about strange black eyes and a huge dragon, breathing black fire with death in it's eyes, claws the size of elephants and fangs as long as an anaconda, with blood dripping from its gigantic mouth and fire burning around it destroying everything nearby at the dragon's wish, getting bigger and bigger, hotter and hotter, higher and higher. Then the dragon screamed and the noise was so awful and loud that mountains near it trembled and shook. Its wings expanded and covered the sky. Flapping it wings once and ripping several trees off the ground by the wind it took flight and landed on a mountain, crushing and melting the rocks with the black fire. It screamed again and mountaintop was flung away, crushing tress and overflowing a river as it landed. The black fire rose around it in a flash and covered the whole mountain and Harold woke up, gasping.

That was a Black Dragon!


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5:**

A Black Dragon! Why would he dream about a Black Dragon? Black Dragons were created by the Elves, long before humanity. The number of them created could be counted in one hand. The dragons were so ferocious and destructive they had destroyed all life, including themselves, with the exception of the elves, and made evolution start all over again. They had resurfaced during the time of Atlantis and destroyed the great empire at its height of power. The elves had subdued them before they could destroy life again.

The High Elves had been furious. Deciding they could not do any about it except try to stop the dragons, they had created the only magical creature capable of taking a Black Dragon head on and perhaps defeat it: phoenixes.

The battle that had ensued had been terrible, despite the elves' effort humanity had been wiped out again by the battle between the two Black Dragons and three phoenixes. The Blood Elves had been banished and thrust out of the Elf realm into the human one.

There had been rumors of Black Dragons resurfacing through out time. A Black Dragon that had barely been an adult had killed Merlin himself.

Once, long before Merlin's time, a young sorcerer and managed to do an animagus transformation into a Black Dragon. The High Elves did not want any Black Dragons in the world any more, so they had immediately killed the sorcerer.

Harold knew all of this because that young sorcerer had been a Black, and his father had been a friend of the Blood Elves, who had extensive libraries about Black Dragons. The sorcerer's father had collected all he could about Black Dragons and blood magic. The Black Family libraries were full of thick books and dusty tomes about Black Dragons and blood magic.

What he couldn't figure out was why he had dreamt about them. Realizing he could do nothing about it, he dismissed it from his mind. Getting up, he walked into the bathroom to shower and brush his teeth.

Getting out an hour later, he checked the time: 4:30 AM. Pretty early, even for him.

Deciding he had nothing better to do, he checked and double-checked his trunk and everything he would need. Sitting at his desk, he wondered what subjects he should choose at his new school.

He had a pretty good idea what the subjects were. Blood Magic was definite and so was Offence and Defense. The required were Transfiguration, Potions, and Charms. Herbology was probably an option.

He knew he would definitely choose blood magic, transfiguration, potions, charms, alchemy and fighting. He would probably pick much more, depending what the subjects were.

Taking out a book, he saw he had picked: _**Lost Arts of Blood Magic by Sadimus Slytherin. **_

Sadimus Slytherin had been turned into a vampire at the age of one. Being bitten by a vampire four thousand years old was a privilege. The vampire had kidnapped Sadimus and taught him everything he knew. When Sadimus had turned sixty, he had killed the ancient vampire when he was at his weakest.

Using blood magic to transfer the old vampire's powers to him, Slytherin had terrorized the wizarding world for a whole century, trying to gain dominion. He had managed to defeat the Ministry of Magic and held absolute control for a century. Then a young sorcerer by the name of Damien Dumbledore had assassinated him.

Sadimus had been insane and cruel; but the general public agreed he had been a genius. An insane genius, but a genius nonetheless. He had furthered the boundaries of blood magic and parselmagic more than any other elf or vampire.

Sadimus had been Salazar Slytherin's grandfather. After Sadimus had died, Salazar had inherited all his possessions. Finding the book, he had studied it and shared it with Gordic, not knowing that Gordic would one day steal it and hide from him.

Continuing to read the introduction:

_Beware those of light heart and dirty blood, ye dare touch this ancient tome, ye shall find an end most horrifying. Mud bloods, ye be warned. This tome is best for vampires and Blood Elves. Those without power or ancient blood shall die, doing what is written in this tome. Half bloods, ye be warned. Dare touch this book and find and end most horrifying. _

_Blood Elves and Vampires, welcome. Read from the hand of a being that has furthered the boundaries of magic more than anyone. Read from the hand of a being that has mastered the ancient art of blood magic, created by the ancient gods who hath sent Merlin into this mortal world. Read from the hand of a being that has encountered the Black Dragon animagus, a sorcerer so powerful and destructive, they call him Black. Blood Elves and Vampires, welcome to the writing of Sadimus Slytherin, a being that can speak to serpents._

Impressive man! Harold thought. He encountered the Black Dragon animagus? That man was killed a century before Sadimus was even born! It was most likely time-travel, Harold thought.

Looking up, he saw it was 6:00 AM. Wow! Time flies fast, Harold thought. Getting up, he opened his door and walked down the spiral staircase down to the door.

Entering the dining room a while later, he saw his mother and father sitting at the table talking quietly. He glared at them. Charles was sitting beside… Ron Weasley!

What was he doing here? That ignorant bastard did not have the right to sit and eat at the silver chairs and golden plates of the Potters! And he had brought his parents with him! Harold just realized that Molly and Arthur Weasley were there, sitting beside his parents, and Molly was sitting in his chair! They have no knowledge of wizarding tradition, do they?

Taking note of the tattered robes the Weasleys wore; he felt a sneer come across his face. Walking silently across floor, he moved to stand behind the oblivious Molly. Everyone's attention was on him now. Molly stopped her loud words and turned to look at what everyone was staring at.

She gasped at his tall, thin form standing behind her, positioned perfectly to block out the light from the torch behind him to pose as much an intimidating effect as possible.

"You are sitting in my chair, Weasley." Said Harold quietly. "You better move, now!"

"Harold!" yelled Lily. "Let her sit. She is your elder!"

"No, Mother. I will not allow this blood traitor to sit and defile my chair! That chair belongs to the Potter Heir and I'm the Potter Heir," said Harold. " Why did you invite the Weasleys anyway, Mother? Hoping to appeal to your Mud-"

"Harold! You will not use that word in this house ever again! You hear me, young man?" yelled James, standing up, as Harold was about to say mud blood.

"Of course, Father." said Harold, bowing mockingly. "As long as this filth gets off my seat."

"Harold!" growled James threateningly. He was still angry with Harold going to a better school than Charles.

"No!" yelled Molly. "It's okay, James. I'll be fine sitting beside Lily."

She walked up and sat down beside Lily.

Harold sneered. Didn't she know that the place beside the wife was reserved for second heir? Of course, Charles was sitting at the end of the table, talking loudly about Quidditch with Ron. They both had noticed the encounter, but had shrugged it off, Charles because Harold was usually like that and Ron because he was too interested in the golden plates and delicious food.

Sneering at them, Harold sat down and piled food into his plate. Eating gracefully, he listened to the conversation around him. Charles and Ron were of course talking about Quidditch. His parents and the elder Weasleys were verbally trashing the Malfoys, who had just recently bought the land surrounding the Burrow, the home of the Weaselys, from the Ministry of Magic. Now they were threatening to throw them out, unless the Weaselys paid a rent of two hundred galleons every month. Of course, the Weaselys barely made that much in a year, so there was no way they would have a home after a month. Unless…

"We will give you the money each month." said James, causing Harold to groan.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6:**

_Flashback:_

"Harold," said Sirius Black to his eight years old godson, opening a sturdy oak door. "This is it, the Black Family Library. I might not be a fan of books, but I got to admit, this is a pretty good collection here. Collected by Blacks for over two thousand years, this has got to be one of the best collection of books ever."

"Yes…" said Harold, not paying attention. He had already passed through the door and entered the giant room. "You can go now, Sirius."

Grimacing at the curt dismissal, Sirius closed the door and walked to the kitchen.

Harold, meanwhile, was looking around the huge library, drinking in the smell of dusty parchment and ink. Looking at the shelves, he read the name of the book closest to him, _**Pure Bloods and Mud Bloods: the Reason for the Superiority by Augustus Black.**_

Pulling the dusty tome out, he opened it to the first page. Reading out loud:

_Every year, a hundred muggle born are introduced to British wizarding society. Every year, Hogwarts accepts more muggle born than pure bloods. Every year, muggle born defenders convince the Ministry of Magic that Muggle born children should be allowed into our society._

_There are some who oppose this, however. Pure bloods of ancient heritage, dating back to the time of Merlin and before, have always opposed this. Allowing mud bloods to enter our society is going to kill us someday. We do not say that they should be shut out. No, let them in ever other generation to renew the gene pool. _

_Mud bloods call us racist and bigoted when they hear of our prejudice against them. They have no right, entering our world and talking about things that they have no knowledge of. They do not hear stories of the power of Merlin when they are just five years old. They do not hear tales of the Salazar Slytherin and how he had dueled the other three founders and almost beaten them, if not for Merlin. They do not watch as their parents use magic. They do not listen as their fathers tell them about wizarding tradition and culture. _

_Mud bloods are a threat to our society. They may call us racist, but the true pure bloods know the truth. The truth as Salazar Slytherin had spoken it and Merlin before him. The truth is that those of muggle heritage will always have weaker magic, compared to those of wizard heritage. All of the notable names in history: Nicholas Flamel, Albus Dumbledore, Merlin, Sadimus Slytherin, the four founders of Hogwarts, have always been of wizard heritage. However much Albus Dumbledore or Gordic Gryffindor may support Muggle born wizards, they know that true wizards are more powerful. _

_Gifted with blood and magic that has build up for more than twenty centuries, true wizards are acknowledged as the superior ones. Mud bloods are our inferior, because we are greater and more powerful than a wizard who was gifted with magic by chance. They have weak magic, deprived of an ancient magical build up; they cannot learn the traditional spells of magic. They cannot see the ancient pyramid that contains the hollowed bones of the extinct Black Dragons. They do not know the gift bestowed to each bloodline. _

_We Blacks have always had the pleasure of being masters of necromancy and dark magic. The ancient line of Lestrange has always been brilliant at the dark arts and runes. The Potters have been gifted with the love of wards and blood magic. Malfoys, our close cousins have always been extraordinary at the ritual magic. The ancient line of Snape has always shown an affinity for potions and alchemy. The Dumbledores have mastered the difficult art of mind magic, as is their right. The line of Slytherin, from which we Blacks decent, is gifted with an affinity for dark magic and necromancy. They have always shown their ability to talk and control serpents. _

_Mud bloods know none of these facts. Our fathers always taught us wizards these important facts. Mud bloods that are new and ignorant of our society are dangerous, because they seek to bring down these ancient and honored ways of wizards, and bring in a new government that gives them a position f power over us._

Harold stopped reading there and contemplated the writings of Augustus Black. He knew, without a doubt, that the words were true for he had seen the same thing himself. He had visited Hogwarts an year ago, watching as wizards learned spells and enchantments. He had immediately picked out the weak ones and knew they were muggle born wizards and witches by the look of wonder on their faces as they saw others perform magic.

Now he realized why they were having difficulties: they were inferior. Mud bloods were inferior to wizards.

Without knowing, Harold had permanently changed himself. From that day forward, Harold James Potter always wore a look of contempt whenever he saw blood traitors and mud bloods or Muggles.

_End Flashback._

It was August the 31st. Harold was standing in his room, giving it a last look over, and checking to see if he had missed anything. Glancing at the waning sun outside, he grabbed the pendant around his neck and looked at the clock: 6:59 PM. One minute left then, Harold thought.

Grabbing his trunk, he waited for the portkey to activate. Looking in the mirror, he saw himself, wondering whether his clothes would make an intimidating enough effect. Harold was wearing black dragon-hide pants, with a black shirt made of Chimera skin. He had his black basilisk hide robe on, trailing behind him. It also covered the two daggers he had hidden in his boots. Feeling for his wand in his sleeve, he donned a black cloak with the Potter and Black Family crests stitched on it.

Harold had just realized that it was 7:00 PM. Barely keeping his balance when the portkey activated, he felt his feet leave his room at Potter Castle.

Looking up when his feet connected solid ground, Harold saw an amazing sight. He was on a mountaintop, covered in snow. There was a huge valley surrounding the huge mountain. Looking around he saw no other students arriving. Taking out his wand and casting a warming charm on himself, he started checking to see that he had everything with him. He shrunk his trunk and put it in his pocket. Casting another warming charm, he started walking around the mountaintop, looking for signs of the school.

Hearing a pop, he spun around, wand drawn and in a dueling stance with a shield ready. Realizing it was another student, who had appeared in the same place he had, he relaxed. Walking up to the student, it was probably an elf or a vampire; he paused as they checked their surroundings. Picking up a key that the person had dropped, he studied it.

It was gold, with a small ruby placed at the handle. There was an ornate 'T' emblazed on it.

"Looking for this?" Harold said, causing the student, vampire, to turn around lightening fast with a dagger drawn. Harold noticed it had the same 'T' emblazed on it as the gold key.

The vampire bared its fangs when he saw him. Then he realized Harold had no fangs or pointed ears.

"Human?" said the vampire, staring at his face. "What is a human doing in the Artic?"

"Vampire." replied Harold, withdrawing the key. "I suggest you move. Other people are coming." The vampire stared at him.

After a while he said, "Magus school?"

Harold nodded. The vampire was quick to over come his shock. Harold smirked.

Finally, the vampire said, "Name's Damien Traze. Heir of Saundi Traze, lord of Traze Family."

"Harold James Potter. Heir of James Henry Potter, lord of Potter Family." said Harold after a second pause.Hesitating slightly, he continued, "Pleasure to meet you, vampire."

The vampire grinned savagely. "You too, Harold James Potter, you too."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7:**

Damien was an interesting person, Harold realized. Heir to the lord of Traze family, he had been bathed in vampire politics as soon he was born. He was groomed to take over the family, as soon as his father died, which may be hundreds years from now.

Having a father who was a lord and was considered one of the most ancient vampires, Damien was allowed a small sense of safety. His father was almost two thousand years old. Living that long gave you time to build up your wealth and influence, and knowledge. Even in the wizarding world, there were rumors of a library so vast, you could not see the end of it, if you looked at it from above.

Damien was not accustomed to meeting humans except for when he wanted blood. Harold had thrown the vampire off balance, introducing himself as the Potter heir, making clear that their positions were the same.

Right now, they were walking down the mountain, to where they could see the shape of blurred castle.

"Why don't we just teleport there?" asked Damien.

"Good idea. You try first." replied Harold.

"Alright," said Damien. He closed his eyes for a moment and spun around dramatically. He disappeared with a POP.

Smirking, Harold readied himself for teleporting to the castle himself. With barely hearable POP and a swirl of his cloak, he, too, disappeared.

A second later, Harold appeared in front of an old castle. His first thought was beautiful. His second thought was, something's wrong.

Indeed, something was wrong. The castle looked deserted. Looking around, he saw Damien kneeling in the snow, coughing blood.

Alarmed, Harold ran over to the vampire, drawing his wand as he did. Damien looked up as he approached, coughing. His fangs were red with blood and behind him was a silver goblet, stained with blood.

Harold immediately figured out what had happened: Damien had drunk from the goblet, which was probably cursed.

Not knowing what to do, Harold waved his wand as he had seen his mother do once over Charles broken wrist. Silvery lines appeared around Damien's throat.

Overlapping the silvery lines were ugly red ones of poison, spreading quickly. Realizing that the goblet carried poison in it, he waved his wand and expertly. His mind recalled a spell he had learned while in the huge Black library.

A new color of lines began to overlap the silver ones. Black lines quickly moved to block everyway the poison could possibly go. Then the black lines slithered to the poison, slowly overlapping it. The poison started retreating up to the vampire's mouth. The black lines seized the advantage and attacked more fiercely. The poison reached the vampire's mouth and a second later; Harold saw the blood change subtly.

Quickly picking up the goblet, he placed it under Damien's mouth. The poison collected in it, dripping slowly from the vampire's mouth. When all the poison was out of the vampire's body and the goblet was full to the brim, Harold quietly observed the black lines.

They, too, were heading towards the mouth. A few seconds later, wispy black mist floated out of Damien's open mouth. As soon as all of the black mist was in the air, Harold waved his wand. The black mist slowly disappeared and with a second flick of his wand, so did the silvery lines around the vampire's throat.

With a nonverbal _Enervate_, Damien was awake.

He sat up as soon as the spell hit him.

"Damien?" said Harold softly.

Spinning around with a dagger in his hand, Damien was exuding the famed speed of the vampires. Harold was quick too, however.

Drawing a silver knife as he landed under Damien, he placed it under Damien's neck.

Damien's eyes widened as he realized he had attacked the mortal that had been traveling with him.

His eyes widened even further when he felt the pressure on his neck. Looking down he saw a small silver knife set against his Adam's apple.

Getting off Harold, Damien looked around. His eyes fell upon the goblet full of poison. He then saw Harold's wand lying beside the goblet. Piecing together the clues, he realized he owed the Potter heir a life-debt.

Looking around at Harold, he saw his cold expression. "What is it, Potter?" he asked.

Picking up his wand, Harold replied, "Get ready, Traze."

With a whispered word, a beam of yellow light raced towards Damien. Quickly moving out of the way, he saw it hit the claw that appeared behind him. Wait a minute! A claw? Thought Damien.

Searching for the owner of the claw, his eyes traveled up the rapidly decaying arm of the monster and up to its rage filled eyes. Two yellow eyes were scrunched up in pain and anger; the huge mouth was open in a silent roar of rage. Four huge fangs were jutting out of the open mouth, dripping blood and chewed meat. The red skin of the monster was covered in black fur, coated with snow and blood. Feeling the foul breath of the monster, he pulled back.

Then he felt sharp pain in his stomach. Looking down he saw the huge arm of the beast in his chest. The impact caused him to fall down. Damien gasped as the pain filled him. Jumping up and moving back, he drew a dagger and waited for the unknown monster to attack again. Meanwhile, his vampire powers were quickly healing the injuries.

Harold on the other hand had not been idle. Waving his wand he kept attacking the creature with various spells and enchantments. A flesh-boiling curse melted off the monster's skin on its head. The monster dodged a heart-stopping curse. A burning spell took care of its eyes and another flesh-boiling curse melted off its skin on its arms. A muscle-destroying hex destroyed the muscles in its legs.

With a roar, it fell to the snow covered ground. Damien closed in and started pounding the creature's heart with the dagger. Roaring in pain, the monster threw of Damien and tried to stand up, only to be hit by Harold's quickly cast killing curse.

Falling back to the ground, the beast never got up again.

Sighing, Harold walked closer and started waving his wand in intricate fashions. The remaining skin of the creature peeled off and spread it self neatly on the ground besides Harold. A few summoning spells later and the rest of the organs were set on the skin. The fangs were wrenched out and placed on the skin. A few intricate waves of his wand, and the eyes were placed neatly beside the still heart. Harold then got himself ready for the most important part of the dissection. He started waving his wand in intricate and jerky movements. A white light seeped into the creature's body and visibly settled down. A few more waves later, all the blood in the creature's body was pulled out and placed in a crystal jar. Creating more jars, he did the same with the heart, eyes, fangs, and the rest of the organs.

Placing them in his endless pockets, straightened up. Harold waved his wand another time and the rest of the things on the monster's skeleton were vanished, leaving only the huge bone structure. A wave of his wand, and the skin was draped over the skeleton and shrunk. Summoning the miniature skeleton, he put it in his pocked and straightened up again.

"Looks like that's what the letter meant by most people don't survive the trials." Said Damien, who had been silent, watching as Harold dissected the unknown Arctic monster.

Shrugging, Harold was about to reply, when they clearly heard a roar of power and triumph echo around them. Coming from the forest… spinning around they saw another beast. A huge dragon towered over them, ready to eat its next meal. Roaring in triumph, it snorted fire into the air. Snarling, the red dragon closed in, flaring its massive wings. With a roar it was in the air and ready to cook the wizard and vampire beneath it.

"Well," said Harold, starring at the massive creature. "Maybe, it didn't!"


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8:**

Harold and Damien stared up at the massive red dragon. Unmoving, they watched as it came closer. In future days, they would have already moved, taking up defensive positions or running, but they were not as paranoid or reactive as they would be when they would graduate from the Magus school in the future.

As it roared down at them, Harold and Damien turned to each other and with wide eyes, Damien muttered softly, "Crap," and Harry replied, "Run!"

With a shout, they turned around and ran like the angel of death was on their heels. They ran towards the castle, trying to desperately outrun the dragon. When they reached the huge doors of the castle, they paused looking back. Surprisingly, the dragon was further than they expected, but it was still close. Drawing their wands, they turned to the wooden doors and with a spell blasted them open.

Turning around, they jumped back as the great dragon's head poked its way into the doorway. Harold started firing off curses like no tomorrow.

Damien was a little cooler headed. He started conjuring iron walls and blasting them at the dragon.

Harold had regained his sense and was doing the same. After a while, the dragon as so bloodied, it backed off a little and Harold and Damien pounced. With a combined effort, they created a huge wall of iron and set it at the door. They started spelling it shut. A few minutes later, all they could hear was dragon banging its had against the wall and roaring in pain.

With a sigh, they turned around and faced the enormous hall they were in. It was filled with cobwebs and dust, but Harold could still make out giant Greek columns, with paintings of famous artists faded but still worth a thousand galleons.

There were giant shelves full of books and golden plaques. Hung on the walls were tapestries, depicting battles and campaigns by great captains of the ancient world, like Alexander the Great, Hannibal and Julius Caesar and Napoleon.

The ceiling was faded golden, holding a huge painting of an aristocratic man. In his hand was a great sword, made of a strange glittering metal. On it was written: Ad Victoriam.

Harold absent-mindedly translated the phrase into 'to victory'. Running his eyes across the room once more, he spotted a shelf full of books. Walking quickly towards the shelf, he spotted a small black book, wedged between two books on mind magic.

With thin fingers, he managed to pull out the book. It had no title, just a date: 1807- 1898.

Opening the book, he saw thin black handwriting covering the whole page. There was no space that wasn't covered with writing.

Peering into the book, Harold managed to make out the words 'feared' and 'greatest magic of the entire world'.

Sighing, Harold pocketed the book. Turing around, he saw Damien was standing in front of a statue of Alexander the Great. Walking over to him, he saw Damien's worshiping expression.

"Like his work?" asked Harold with a small smile.

"Like his work, Harold?" asked Damien, turning to him. "My father is about three thousand years old. He was a general of Alexander during his conquests. He was turned by Alexander."

"Alexander was a vampire?" asked Harold, astonished.

"How do think he was so fast in his conquests. He was already four thousand years old by the time he decided to pretend to be the son of Phillip II.

"He wanted to be the conqueror of the world. He wanted to be in history. And I can tell you that he didn't die by malaria in Babylon. My father killed him."

"What?" said Harold, astonished. "Your father killed Alexander?"

"Yes, reluctantly, but yes, he did kill him." Replied Damien. "He was convinced that Alexander would kill him when the generals were back in Alexandria."

"Was it true?" asked Harold.

"No." replied Damien simply.

Staring all around them, they saw many other famous generals.

Harold spotted one that immediately caught his attention: Julius Caesar.

Walked over to his statue, he looked at the plaque:

_Julius Caesar, Unknown – 44 BC: He was the conqueror of Gaul. He subdued the Italian peninsula in only sixty days, he defeated Pompey with but half of Pompey's total forces. He was the lover of Cleopatra the queen of Egypt. He was the man who set the foundation for Augustus to build the Roman Empire. He was the best captain of antiquity. He was Julius Caesar. _

He heard Damien come up behind him.

Turning to him, he said, "Now, that's a true conqueror."

Smiling, Damien just shook his head and turned away.

Harold was about to turn too, but saw a book wedged beside the statue. Reaching out with thin fingers, he pried the book out of the tight space. Reading the cover, he saw that it was in Latin. Quickly translating it, he whispered out loud, "The magic of war: by Julius Caesar."

Gasping lightly, he opened the book. Inside were lines and lines full of equations and spells of mass scale destruction.

Harold grasped the book like it was his life. This was like a find of a life!

"Harold, we should be figuring out how to get to the school now." Called Damien, who had been examining a deadly looking sword.

Harold turned around, sighing at the missed opportunity at looking at the book more carefully. Pocketing the book, he replied, "I guess we should."


End file.
